


come morning light

by luxaureas



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Discussions of Minor Character Death, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hugging, Minor Original Character(s), Picnics, Storytelling, Young Callum and Ezran, let this family be HAPPY @ wonderstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 03:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19165033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxaureas/pseuds/luxaureas
Summary: "Can you tell us a bedtime story?"Harrow sits on the edge of his sons' bed. "Of course! What should it be about? Should it be about knights in shining armor? Battles? Princesses falling in love?""No," Ezran says quietly. "Can you tell me about Mom?"





	come morning light

**Author's Note:**

> me, resolutely ignoring that the tower scene in ep2 was the first time callum called harrow dad: anyways callum calls harrow dad and harrow does his best to be the father sarai would've wanted him to be while realizing the only way to truly keep her alive is to tell his boys about her. 
> 
> ENJOY!! this made me gross sob writing it i love this family bls let harrow be in pip's body and sarai in one of viren's coins or wonderstorm WILL be hearing from my lawyers.

“Dad?”

Harrow turns, smiling. If he thought he was stubborn - _Sarai’s words, not his_ \- then he takes full responsibility for passing that on to Callum and Ezran. “Yeah?”

It's past both their bedtimes but neither boy is in bed or asleep. His fault, again, Harrow supposes. He'd promised to wish them goodnight but had gotten caught up in a trade agreement meeting that has run far longer than he anticipated.

Beneath the covers, shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother, Ezran is dwarfed by the large bed. Despite his own quarters right next door, through which is open, he snuggles in with Callum more nights than not. Callum never says a word of protest.

Ezran's words are punctuated with a long, gaping yawn.

"Can you tell us a bedtime story?"

"'M too old for stories," Callum yawns himself, snuggling deeper into the covers. Harrow chuckles. "Goodnight Ez."

Harrow sits on the edge of the bed. "Then just for you, my boy. What should it be about? Should it be about knights in shining armor? Battles? Princesses falling in love?"

Before he's even done talking, Ezran is shaking his head. Despite being only seven, he's perceptive and knows exactly what he wants.

"No," Ezran says quietly. "Can you tell me about Mom?"

A blow to the gut with a sword would hurt less.

Harrow knows his eyes go wide and Callum's sitting up, eyes just as wide with panic. "Ezran," Callum chides and the little boy looks frightened by what he's asked, drawing the blanket up to his chest while tugging a glowing Bait closer. He's scared of what he's asked, even if he doesn't know why he should be afraid.

Alone behind his ribs, Harrow's heart breaks.

 _"Of course,"_ he murmurs and both Callum and Ezran look surprised. Tucking one leg beneath his knee, he turns so he's facing them. "I'm sorry I never told you sooner. It's not right for you not to know about your mother."

"It's okay," Callum says hurriedly but Harrow shakes his head.

"No," Harrow whispers reassuringly and sets a hand on the blankets where Callum's knee pokes up. "It's not okay but I'm not angry."

He still looks on edge so Harrow sighs again and scoots forward until Callum's feet poke at his thigh through his trousers. Callum automatically moves to curl them closer to himself but Harrow shakes his head and lays a hand on the coverlet.

"Stay, Callum. Please."

Callum swallows. "Okay," he murmurs and lowers the blanket from his chest a bit. In the oversized tunic he wears as nighttime clothes, Callum's shoulders look small and bony.

Harrow smiles at the sight. His boys. His sons - _Sarai's_ sons.

She would be proud of them while also probably hitting him over the head for being distant. Harrow knows that he should be more affectionate with them, paying better attention to them as they grow like weeds but there's a kingdom for him to run. He hates it, but he finds that some days the brass towers that usually kiss his brow are too heavy to take off.

He refuses to wear his crown around the boys. It's a promise he made to Sarai and just because she's gone doesn't mean his words are.

Around Callum and Ezran, he's not King Harrow, he's just _Dad._

With his boys, he's silly and wise and strong and holds a secret love for jelly tarts. Call it irony but he's grown to love the pastry even more over the years, plenty of time spent wiping away the jelly from Ezran's mouth with his thumb and splitting one while dangling his feet off the end of the pier with Callum when they go out on his free days to sketch parts of the forest surrounding Katolis.

Even now, all these years later, Harrow can't help but see Sarai's smile when he bites into the jelly tart, teeth splitting the warm pastry and the cool, flavorful jam bursting on his tongue. Just thinking about them makes Harrow wish he had snagged three from the kitchens. He knows the love Ezran in particular harbors for them without even realizing his mother loved them so.

"What story do you want to hear?"

Ezran's face scrunches up in thought before his eyes light up and he's scrambling from under the blankets. For a moment his feet get tangled in the covers that Harrow chuckles at as Ezran sits back on his thighs.

"I know!" he proclaims, smiles toothily and worms his way into his father's side. "Tell us how you met Mom."

Smiling, Harrow closes his eyes and encircles Ezran into his arms, drawing him into his lap as the other hand rests on Callum's calf. "It was summer," he starts, "and my father kicked me out of his study because I was bothering him instead of taking my Princely duties seriously. I wandered down to the kitchens and found one of the guards poking around the plates with the jelly tarts. I froze! She was beautiful, a soldier, but a thief! What was I supposed to do? I watched as she slipped two into her pocket and turned to see me."

Ezran gasped. "What did she do?"

Chuckling, Harrow closed his eyes, returning to that moment in time where he swore he would never love anyone else except the determined, jelly-tart-loving guard.

"She challenged me to a duel. If she won, I wouldn't tell anyone she was in the kitchen technically stealing but if I won, I could have her removed from her position."

Callum snorts, the sound quickly turning into a full-on laugh. "And how'd that go?"

"Unsurprisingly, she won. As I lay in the dirt with her standing over me, haloed in the sunlight, her spear leveled with my chest, I realized I never knew her name but wanted to marry her."

Ezran bounces on his knees. "You did!"

"I did; I married her," Harrow announces, spreading his hands, "and gained a sister-in-law who could also kick my butt, a wife who kept me on my toes and a little boy who taught me to love."

A flush explodes across Callum's cheeks as Ezran laughs in the boasting, full way young children do. "That's you, Lulu!"

Harrow smiles fondly at the nickname. Lulu had been Ezran's first word, a butchering of Callum's first name that stuck around long after Ezran could speak without a lisp or barriers of age. In retaliation, Callum came up with his own nickname.

"You got two sons to love," Callum says and ruffles Ezran's hair, "Lulu and Ezzie."

Tears prickle at Harrow's eyes without warning at the sight in front of him. His back and feet ache from a long day, a slight headache pounding at his temples from staring at parchment and arguing but it all melts away in his sons' quarters, with Callum's smile and Ezran's laugh.

A moment later Harrow sweeps them both into his arms. Ezran's laughter turns into a yelp of surprise and Callum stutters a wondering at what he's doing but Harrow doesn't care - he loves Sarai's son. His sons.

His boys.

"I love you both," he murmurs, "and I know your mother loved you both as well."

Callum and Ezran hug him back with the ferocity of a thousand suns.

Harrow pulls back first, one hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm sorry I never told you two about her. You were both so young and I...I hurt. So much. Losing your mother was like losing a part of myself."

"It's okay-"

Harrow cuts Callum off softly.

"No, it's not okay," he says softly, smiling sadly, "it's not okay I kept your mother from you because I was in pain. You two were in the same amount of pain and I selfishly kept her to myself and told myself that keeping away was the right thing to do, to honor her memory. I know now honoring her memory means sharing her with you two - as it should be."

Both boys look back at him with Sarai's kind, almond-shaped eyes. Harrow's heart clenches again but it isn't in pain, rather in happiness.

Perhaps this is the first step to healing.

"Callum, telling you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. You were so young...you didn't understand your mother was never coming home. Ezran cried for weeks, craving her arms and I wasn't enough. He didn't know. Neither of you did. And I'm sorry that I foolishly thought that just not telling you about her was the right thing to do."

"Daddy," Ezran says softly, "we love you."

Callum nods. "It's okay, Dad. You're here now and we...we know. Thank you for telling us."

No one mentions how they're all hovering on the verge of tears. Harrow's learned his lesson on hiding himself from his sons and lets them fall without pretense. He draws them back into his arms. Both Callum and Ezran come willingly.

"I promise to talk about her more," he whispers fiercely, voice shaky, pressing a kiss to the side of Callum and then Ezran's head. "I promise to answer any questions you have, any at all. She - she would've _wanted_ it to be like this."

"Thank you," Callum murmurs. Harrow hugs him closer before pulling back.

"First thing in the morning I'm sending away Isla until after lunch," Harrow continues. "From now on, I think it would be - would be _nice_ for the three of us to have breakfast together. No more early morning meetings and Callum, your sword-fighting lessons will be pushed back. Ezran, your history lectures won't begin until after."

All three of them are full-on crying now and Callum collapses into his arms rather than Harrow pulling him back in. Moments later, Ezran joins and Harrow finds himself laying down on the bed next to his sons, letting Ezran prop his head on his chest as Callum snuggles beneath his arm.

"Goodnight Dad," Callum murmurs and a rush goes through Harrow.

He's missed his sons.

"I promise to do better," he murmurs later when Callum's soft snores line up with Ezran's. Harrow smoothes a hand over Ezran's wild curls, so similar to his when they aren't braided back into dreads and smiles tearily. "I'll be the dad you've always wanted and believed me to be, Sarai. _Promise."_

King Harrow falls asleep like that, surrounded by his boys, perfectly content. In the morning Viren will come knocking on his quarters only to be informed he never returned to them and they'll be a castle-wide panic before a guard will inform the High Mage that Harrow is downstairs, sleeping in Callum and Ezran's bedchambers.

When Harrow wakes, he'll look down at his sons; Callum with a passion for drawing and his mother's eyes, Ezran with his love of jelly tarts and affinity for animals. He'll think Sarai is smiling down on all of them.

He rises, welcoming the new day instead of dreading it for the first time in a long time.

Breakfast is quiet but the next day is less stiff. As time wears on, breakfast grows less quiet, filled with jokes and questions and stories. Harrow spills every detail he remembers about his late wife and his sons' mother, every detail he's burned into his head for fear of forgetting.

He's incapable of forgetting Sarai. Harrow makes it his job to make sure Callum and Ezran don't, either.

On Callum's twelfth birthday, he gives both Callum and Ezran duplicates of the portrait in the Great Hall, a repainting of the one in his bedchamber that sits on Sarai's side of the bed.

Callum cries.

That night, he summons them to his quarters long after their bedtime.

There's a knock on his chambers and he looks up from his desk. "Enter."

"Sir, the princes," the guard says as Callum and Ezran enter, already dressed in their night clothes, feet in socks to protect against the cold cobblestone floors.

Harrow smiles, standing.

"I thought we could sleep here tonight."

It's the second step towards healing, he thinks, when Callum smooths a hesitant hand over Sarai's side of the bed and Ezran piles on, dragging on extra blankets with his laughter. They stay up late into the night, throwing pillows, laughing, sharing stories until sleep pulls at Ezran's eyelids and they all fall asleep.

* * *

"Good morning, Your Highness," Grace says as he enters the kitchens after she's stood from her low curtesy. She brushes off her hands on her already covered-in-flour apron. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Harrow smiles, rolling up his sleeves. "Actually, there is. Is it too late to possibly get another cooking lesson?"

"I think I can make an exception," Grace smiles with a wink and moves over. "Don't forget an apron, King Harrow. It would be a shame to ruin your robes."

"Have you that little faith in me, Grace?" Harrow laughs and Grace joins in as he slips the linen over his head and ties the knot.

Grace continues as he moves to the sink to wash his hands and tie back his braids. She's a stranger no longer to his early-morning trips to the kitchen to continue baking a certain pasty. While she has her suspicions about _why,_ she keeps his visits quiet. Harrow is grateful - he's doing this as a dad, not a monarch.

"Now, be sure to dry your hands thoroughly before we start the dough. We'll cover our hands and workplace with flour so it doesn't stick then..."

* * *

"Where are we going?"

Harrow laughs, guiding Callum and Ezran by the shoulders into another corridor. "You'll see! If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise now would it?"

"I guess not," Callum admits. Ezran giggles.

"Are we there yet?"

"Just one more set of stairs," Harrow promises, "and then we'll be there, promise! My, you boys are jumpy."

They reach the top of the stairs without anyone tripping. Callum wrinkles his nose beneath the hand over his eyes. "We're outside?"

"Surprise!" Harrow exclaims. "You can open your eyes now."

Both boys bring their palms from their eyes and gape at the sight before them. They're on the roof of one of the towers, highest from the ground, a blanket spread over the tiles, a basket sitting in the middle.

Ezran turns. "Dad-?"

"It's Mom's birthday, isn't it," Callum murmurs. His eyes are sad but there's a brightness there, a knowing. Harrow nods, setting his hand on his oldest son's shoulder.

"Yeah, it is. I thought we could do something special."

Ezran's hugging him a moment later and then he's kneeling by the basket. "It smells like jelly tarts!"

"I certainly hope it does," Harrow chuckles as Callum walks forward to investigate, "because I made them!"

Shocked, both Ezran and Callum freeze to look at him. Walking forward to kneel next to him, Harrow laughs. "Well don't look too surprised! I was up almost all night making them."

"Don't eat them," Callum warns his brother with a sly, teasing smile, "you know how Dad's cooking is."

Harrow laughs loudly and collapses on the blanket, hand held to his chest. "Oh! I'm wounded! You've wounded me, Callum. You've killed your old man. Guess I'll have to eat these all myself-"

Giggling almost uncontrollably, both boys tackle him in a hug.

Underneath the sunlight of the morning, King Harrow, Prince Callum and Prince Ezran toast to the late Queen Sarai with cold crocks apple juice and warm, steaming jelly tarts. Fingers sticky with persimmon, they play little games with cards and coins as Callum sits back. Opening his sketchbook, he sticks his tongue out as he studies the swoop of his father's lips as they curl around a laugh, how Ezran's forehead creases in concentration.

Harrow lets Ezran win every time.

They stay up there until the sun sets. Ezran yawns as Harrow hoists him into his arms and Callum gathers up his sketchbook and the picnic basket as they descend back into the slightly-damp coolness of the castle.

Harrow kisses Ezran's forehead as he tucks him into bed and exchanges looks with Bait. "No nightmares," he says sternly, shaking his finger. The glowtoad does the closest thing to nodding before curling up in Ezran's arms.

Ezran snuggles deeper into the covers, pulling Bait closer. With a smile, Harrow stands and crosses into Callum's chambers, the door left open.

He's at his desk, scribbling in his sketchbook. Harrow chuckles.

"Time for bed, Cal. Sorry, I don't make the rules - oh wait, I do. I'm the king and your father. That's double the superiority on the rules."

Callum chuckles and spins around in his chair. "Sorry I'm not in bed yet, I just - I just wanted to -"

"Hey," Harrow kneels by the chair, a hand on his shoulder, "is something wrong?"

Instead of saying anything, Callum holds out a piece of paper. With a soft, cautious look, Harrow takes the paper and looks down.

Tears spring into his eyes. "Oh, Callum..."

"I'm sorry if I upset you," Callum says quickly, twisting around his fingers in his lap, a nervous tick he's picked up recently. "I know emotions are running high today but I drew this during our picnic and thought you might like it - _oof!"_

Harrow crushes him close to him, closing his eyes and holding Callum close. Slight sobs shake his shoulders but when he pulls back, he's smiling despite the tears on his cheeks.

"I _love_ it," Harrow stresses, hugging the thick paper to his chest, cradling it as if it's the most important thing in the world. "I love it, Callum. Thank you for showing me."

"Of course," Callum murmurs. "Do you think Mom-"

Harrow's nodding already. "Yes," he says as he laughs tearily, looking at the art before hugging Callum close again, "yes, she'd love it. She'd love all your art. Would you mind...if I framed it?"

"It _is_ for you," Callum reminds him with tears in his own eyes. Harrow smiles up at him before rising and holding out his hand.

"Thank you again. But for now, it's time for bed."

Harrow tucks Callum into bed and prays he never gets too old to kiss his sons goodnight on the forehead after drawing the covers to their chins. He hopes he grows old and grey only to do the same to their kids, his grandkids, to watch his sons grow up in a world he's created and he knows they'll change.

He can't wait.

On his desk, he carefully sets the framed picture next to the portrait of all four of them, when Ezran was small enough to fit into the crook of his elbow and Callum's cheeks were full of baby fat. He loves both pictures but traces a single finger down Callum's face.

It captures a spark that the official royal portrait.

He loves it.

* * *

The first thing Ezran - not Prince Ezran, but King Ezran - asks when he returns to Katolis with Corvus by his side is to see the king's chambers. A guard leads him there with careful eyes and apologizes before the door saying they haven't had time to clean up. They've been short-staffed.

Ezran nods and pushes open the door himself, pocketed with arrows that stick out like blackened teeth. He continues anyway.

The guard isn't kidding. There's still shields on the floor, bits of armor. Ezran swallows down the urge to cry at the faded red smear on the floor, convincing himself it's part of the unraveled carpet or a trick of the light. He steps over it all. He's not here to sleep.

He'll never sleep here, never again. These chambers are - were - for his mother and father, the King and Queen. Although he is now King, Ezran knows he'll never sleep here, even if it's cleaned up. Too many memories, too many ghosts.

The desk is overturned but it isn't hard to find what he's looking for. Wedged beneath the edge, Ezran pulls until the cracked glass and frame comes free. For a moment he's frozen, staring down at it. He hugs it to his chest, remembers hugging Callum and Rayla goodbye more than a week and a half ago. It's a poor substitute - wood and glass for his brother's warm arms, beating heart under his ear.

Ezran blinks back tears, stands up straight and leaves without another look back.

"Thank you," he says softly. The guard nods - her eyes are sad, knowing.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Callum's sketch from all those years ago finds a new home. Ezran hires the best painter in all the Pentarchy and presents him with a paper from a sketchbook with a soft order to copy it onto a bigger canvas.

It's odd, but the painter does as he's told.

Three months later, Prince Callum rides back into town with a new-found confidence in his step, a Moonshadow elf by his side. They're led to the castle, through the corridors to the Great Hall and the doors are pushed open.

Callum cries when Ezran runs forward, both at the feeling of his little brother in his arms and the painting over the throne on the dais. For there, above the imposing back of a throne Ezran will never quite feel big or important enough to sit in, is his sketch. It's of that day, Harrow and Ezran and Callum having a picnic, persimmon jelly on their lips and hands, laughing. The sunlight bounces off the roof they're sitting on and above it all, there's the late Queen Sarai, arms spread wide and eyes closed, encompassing them in her embrace.

At peace, finally, at last.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me about how cute harrai and dad!harrow is with his sons on my twitter, @/qveensarai


End file.
